


Reprieve

by caketoss



Category: StarCraft
Genre: Bloodplay, M/M, Masochism, One Shot, Rough Sex, Sadism
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-02-11
Updated: 2016-02-11
Packaged: 2018-05-19 17:48:42
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,572
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5975848
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/caketoss/pseuds/caketoss
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>With the final battle for Aiur close at hand, Alarak shows Artanis how the Tal'darim focus themselves before battle.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Reprieve

**Author's Note:**

> So, um, this got a little dark. Made a minor change to the dialogue from the original version to be in better alignment with SC canon.

Shining drops of deep blue blood dotted the otherwise spotless floor of the bridge of the Spear of Adun, flickering softly in the radiant glow of the floating crystals scattered about the helm of the ship. Artanis eased his weight tentatively into the long, trembling hands he’d planted upon the cold rim of the celestial array before him. It was with the aid of this grand piece of ancient, finely tuned technology that Artanis had plotted their course through the stars, the weight of the survival of his entire race riding upon his shoulders. But in this moment, Artanis basked in temporary reprieve from the immense pressure created by the gravity of his race’s dependence upon him in the fragile days to come. Now entirely sure in his resolve to stay their course, Artanis gazed calmly at the infinite array of stars beyond the great, curving transparent panels that encompassed the ship’s center of command. The Hierarch’s soul burned steady and bright with a flame that would ignite the spirits of Khalai, Tal'darim and Nerazim alike. He was ready, now more than ever, to lead his people to victory.

*** 

Artanis was not an easy creature to rattle. Nonetheless, the dictatorial supremacy with which Alarak chose to rule over the Tal'darim incensed him. The reasoning behind Alarak’s choice style of leadership was not beyond his understanding; in fact quite the contrary was true. Artanis could theorize on the appeal of an army of seemingly unquestioning devotees - but the history of his people had already taught them the protoss were not a race that took well to a leadership meaning to subjugate and enslave. 

The hour was late. Artanis stood in silent contemplation upon the bridge of the great arkship, trying and failing to keep his anxious anticipation of the days to come at bay. Sleep did not come easily to him with their day of reclamation looming so close on the horizon. 

Feeling a presence brush against his consciousness, Artanis turned to acknowledge Alarak, Highlord of the Tal'darim, meeting his glowing red gaze across the bridge. Shifting armor clanked softly as the Tal'darim approached, breaking the deafening silence that hung in the vast chamber. 

“Artanis.” 

Alarak’s tone was sardonic. “Why do you linger here so late at night?“ It was a question that didn’t need an answer. Alarak knew very well why Artanis was here - he’d read his unguarded thoughts before making his presence known to the Hierarch. Alarak knew it was Artanis’s inner turmoil and self-doubt that robbed him of his rest during these long, suspenseful nights. 

Alarak proceeded to prod Artanis regarding the thoughts he’d gleaned just prior from his mind. “I do not understand why you insist on risking the fate of your people in such a pointless attempt to reclaim a worthless relic of the past. It is obvious that even you doubt your decision.” 

They’d had this conversation before. Artanis stood in resolution as the Highlord approached. Artanis knew that Alarak meant to goad him, and so he remained silent, considering the Highlord. It was unnerving how naturally rulership via unquestioning obedience and subservience came to Alarak. Already he had tried to give orders to Artanis, as if he truly expected the Hierarch of the Daelaam to yield to his commands. It was apparent that the Highlord was testing his leadership, evaluating him and sizing him up. Nonetheless, Artanis had no qualms with ensuring he reminded the Highlord of his place - as the vengeful leader of a people betrayed, bent upon exacting revenge they’d be incapable of achieving alone. 

Alarak stood mere feet before the Hierarch now, his dark, sharply angled armor contrasting severely against the ornate and shining golden raiments adorning Artanis’s body. 

“Our course has been set, Alarak.” Artanis’s reply was short. In this hour he had little patience for the Highlord’s games. Bristling at the Tal'darim’s inane intrusion, Artanis turned his back, resuming his quiet contemplation while signaling to the Highlord his desire to be left to his solitude. 

“Oh, but Artanis, you complicate things. Just how was it exactly that you came to lead these… ‘free’ protoss when–“

“ _Enough!_ ” The Hierarch’s roar shattered the cold stillness upon the bridge. Clearly his words had touched a nerve. Artanis spun to face Alarak once more, his bright blue eyes shining with his intensity. Broadcasting his thoughts to the Highlord, Artanis made it undoubtedly clear that this was _his_ war, _his_ people who’s lives hung delicately in the balance, and _his_ responsibility to save every last life that now sat like waiting prey on the planet they once called home. 

Alarak narrowed his eyes, tilting his head to the side in a gesture of amusement. This is what he had come here for, and was quite pleased with the response he’d managed to elicit from the Hierarch. Day after day, the Highlord found himself insufferably bored upon the Spear of Adun, and the banter he so enjoyed with Artanis provided at least a temporary measure of relief. And now, as the events they’d experienced together culminated to a head, Alarak found Artanis to be quite tightly strung with trepidation, just waiting to be strummed by his deft and calculating hands. 

“Templar,” Alarak hissed, striding forward to close the gap between them. “I care not for the planet your people so revere, nor your kind now upon it. Remember that _you_ will not retake Aiur without the brutality and strength of the Tal'darim forces _I_ now command.” The red glow of the Highlord’s eyes intensified, his gaze boring through the staunch protoss Hierarch before him. The tension in the air came to a height as Alarak extended his hands outward from his sides, summoning forth glowing red orbs of energy that hovered inches above his outstretched palms. 

Artanis stepped back, his trailing garment brushing against the edge of the celestial array. His eyes did not break contact with those of the Highlord as he stood tall, dual psi-blades deploying in a defensive stance. 

“Alarak, what is the meaning of this?” Angry and bewildered, Artanis pled with the Highlord. Alarak again was amused. So this is what it took then, the key to getting under the Hierarch’s skin. All the Highlord needed to do was threaten to make everything Artanis and countless numbers of his brethren sacrificed for utterly meaningless in a flash of blades and blood. 

The swirling crimson orbs hovering above the Highlord’s palms brightened and snapped with sparks of energy. “Oh, Hierarch…” Alarak’s words dripped with condescension. “Retract your weapons. It is now time that you learned something from the Tal'darim.” Red eyes narrowing, Alarak closed the space Artanis had created between them, his chest now nearly touching that of the wordless Hierarch before him. Alarak’s clawed hand brushed forward to grasp at Artanis’s thigh, tightening his grip immediately to force razor sharp talons to bite into his tender skin. The energy that had been amassing in Alarak’s palm diffused on contact, causing the entire side of Artanis’s body to go numb. He staggered at the loss of sensation. 

“Artanis… We of the Tal'darim understand better than any the invaluable nature of rage and hatred in war. But when clouded by doubt, it becomes a waste. You…” Alarak shifted his weight, digging his claws deeper into the Hierarch’s thigh, “need to be clear.” 

Artanis’s thoughts calmed as the Highlord’s intentions became obvious. It wasn’t the first time they’d sought out one another. There was a tenuous agreement of mutual desire between them, sprung from their seemingly incongruous chemistry. Artanis winced, trying to adjust to the sharp pain of Alarak’s claws still embedded in his flesh. But despite the physical assault, Artanis could read that the Tal'darim meant to ease his mind, apparently in the way common to the Highlord and his supplicants. 

Granting him no more time for thought, Alarak raked his claws upward between the Hierarch’s thighs. Jagged lines that blossomed deep blue blood appeared in their wake, and Artanis hissed in pain. With their armored bodies pressed close, Alarak reached to undo the fastenings of his belt, letting the dark garment and swaths of deep red fabric clatter to the floor below. Reaching past the cloth that did little now to conceal Artanis’s arousal, Alarak found the Hierarch’s organ fully extended and dripping against his wounded thigh. With red eyes piercing deep into blue, Alarak grazed his blood-stained claws against the swollen member of the Hierarch. Artanis jumped at the touch, nearly swooning with the effort required to refrain from instinctually kicking out and sending the Highlord sprawling across the room. 

“Careful, Artanis,“ cautioned Alarak, narrowing his eyes in a smirk at the Hierarch’s plight. Sliding his fingers upward, the tips of Alarak’s claws began to tease lightly at the slit nestled between Artanis’s gleaming thighs, damp with a mixture of blood and perspiration. 

Artanis could not recall having ever felt as vulnerable and stripped as he did in that moment. But the feeling exhilarated him. He felt entirely bare beneath the calculated touch of the Highlord, such a contrast to his usual demeanor of strength and unshakeable perseverance. Relaxing into the touch, Artanis conveyed his languid contentedness to the Highlord, leaning back and allowing his legs to fall open with laviscious abandon. 

Artanis was enjoying this too much. Alarak needed the Hierarch to feel pain, to bleed, to revel and to drown in the clash of diametrically opposed sensations - pleasure and pain - to truly appreciate what the Highlord intended for him. Without warning, Alarak drove a clawed finger into the Hierarch’s entrance, easily piercing the slick and pliant flesh within. Artanis instantly bucked forward violently with a snarl, his knees giving out beneath him. Alarak held his hand in place as Artanis fell, forcing the Hierarch to impale himself a bit further on the cruel digit. Blinded by the white-hot pain, Artanis’s hands dragged in desperation at the armor of the Tal'darim, his blue eyes filled with a wild rage as he struggled to regain his composure. 

“Stand, Templar.” Alarak spoke simply, his smug satisfaction washing over Artanis as he gently withdrew the razor sharp intrusion from inside the Hierarch. His legs shaking and wet with a generous wash of fresh blood, Artanis attempted to draw himself up to his full height. But before he had the chance to meet the Highlord’s gaze, Alarak burst into action, grabbing the Hierarch’s pauldrons and thrusting him facedown against the celestial array in a single, smooth motion. It was now that Artanis first took notice of Alarak’s arousal, hanging long and thick between his legs and moving to snake up the blood-soaked expanse of the Hierarch’s inner thigh. Artanis allowed his weight to sag forward, his eyes fluttering shut in anticipation of what was to come. Alarak bent himself over the Hierarch, allowing his organ to slide up and entwine itself around Artanis’s heavy arousal. 

“What’s the matter, Hierarch?” Alarak’s tone was filled with mocking. Brushing aside the bloodstained raiment that swept downwards from the Hierarch’s belt, the Highlord pulled Artanis’s hips back to create a sweet, sliding friction between them. 

Artanis remained still but for his gently trembling legs. He was silent for a long time, seemingly lost in the Highlord’s gentle, teasing motions. Artanis, resigned to his fate, goaded the Highlord in turn. 

“Fuck me, Alarak.” 

Alarak’s brow raised in surprise. Highly entertained and somewhat taken aback by the Hierarch’s brusque use of the Terran slur, Alarak reveled in the knowledge that he now held all the power over the defiant Templar beneath him. Raising his hands to stroke the bare skin beneath Artanis’s arms, Alarak teased for a moment before greedily taking hold of the Hierarch, digging claws once more into sensitive skin and pulling their bodies closer. Artanis felt the thick, intrusive organ slide back and away from his own, leaving his body aching in absence of the exquisite contact. 

“Artanis…” 

Alarak’s voice was just a whisper in his head, but it was potently charged with lust and greed, rage and hatred. Alarak laughed softly in grim elation, making a point to linger suspensefully in the Hierarch’s mind. 

“You know not what you ask.”

Alarak had slammed his hips forward before the chiding words had been uttered, burying his organ entirely within the Templar below. Grunting at the violent and sudden intrusion, Artanis struggled to keep his chaotic thoughts protected as he weathered the onslaught. Alarak’s girth caused the wound inside him to tear wider, releasing a wave of fresh blood that spattered the floor beneath them with every thrust. 

Artanis found himself almost instantly flooded with the full battle rage of the Templar, no doubt in response to the brutal and repetitive violation of his body. Planting his hands on the console of the array before him, Artanis stiffened and began to try and return the thrusts in kind, throwing himself back on the writhing, invading organ. 

Noting the gesture, Alarak’s brow creased. “Is this not enough for you, Hierarch?” The Highlord raised his hand to roughly grasp the base of the Hierarch’s severed cords. Hooking his free hand beneath Artanis’s thigh, the Highlord lifted Artanis’s leg and pushed him further onto the array that now bore his weight almost entirely. Alarak jerked the Hierarch’s head back in a gesture of calculated control, forcing him to bear a fresh barrage of thrusts that each added to the terrible pain spiking through his body. But much to Artanis’s surprise, the pain began to feed the coiling, sweet sensation of warmth budding deep inside him. 

Alarak felt it too - the warm, creeping approach of his impending climax. The Highlord was impressed with the Hierarch beneath him - it was obvious that the Templar was indeed losing himself in pleasure and euphoria from the assault that would surely horrify many others of his kind. Pulling Artanis’s head back further to create a glorious, deep arc in the Hierarch’s back, Alarak used his grip on Artanis’s severed nerve cords to direct a powerful wave of psionic energy directly into the nervous system of the vulnerable Templar beneath him. With muscles suddenly and forcibly tensed by the bombardment of energy, Artanis cried out in shock as he was overwhelmed by a kind of pain entirely different than what he’d endured thus far. 

Thrumming with psionic energy, Artanis felt a deep, captivating sensation mount inside him, washing over him in tandem with the psionic waves reverberating through his body. Its threat to drown him in sweet, unabated ecstacy, combined with his body’s autonomic protest at the relentless accretion of pain was becoming too much for him to bear. Artanis shut his eyes tightly. He was losing control as Alarak picked up his pace, his entire body trembling in a futile attempt to hang onto his sanity. 

Artanis’s climax ripped through him with a final, primal cry. Abandoning all control, the Hierarch allowed the pinnacle of sensation and emotion to consume him entirely, obliterating the insidious doubt and uncertainty he had been harboring inside for weeks. In the same instant, the Highlord shouted his release, throwing a few final, rough jabs into the body of the Hierarch before withdrawing and allowing Artanis to crumple to his knees, his head resting in dazed, peaceful oblivion against the side of the celestial array. 

“And now, Hierarch,” said Alarak, sounding quite pleased with himself as he scooped his discarded belt and garment from the floor, “you understand the surety of the Tal'darim.” 


End file.
